


Black Silk and Plastic Touches

by Caped-Ace (PsychopompSentinel)



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, New Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - No Skrulls, Costume Kink, Costume Parties & Masquerades, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Tony Stark, Pining, Pre-Civil War (Marvel), References to Canon, Sexual Tension, Tony Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 15:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13080126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychopompSentinel/pseuds/Caped-Ace
Summary: They say you should try walking a mile in someone else's shoes. Well, the New Avengers are more the partying than walking kind, which leads to masquerade shenanigans and everyone dressing up in each other's worst costumes. Cue Tony hiding away in the workshop to make the perfect outfit for the occasion, with its silly half-cowl and low-cut neckline that should be illegal.Enter the long lost Nomad, the Tony Stark remix, featuring Steve with rollerblades.





	Black Silk and Plastic Touches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sineala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/gifts).



> My attempt at fulfilling the lovely Sineala's prompt: "Steve and Tony wear each other's clothing, armor, or uniforms. (Bonus points for using your favorite ridiculous old-school 616 costumes. Why, yes, I am thinking of Nomad Tony.)". I do hope you enjoy this~♥

 

 

To no one’s surprise it was Spider-Man’s fault.

 

The team had been having a rare, lazy day, all huddled in the living room with blankets, bowls of popcorn, and the dulcet tones of Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn as _Charade_ played on the big screen. They’d had a long, hectic week, so the reprieve was more than welcome. Even Tony was present instead of locked away in his workshop, trying hard not to doze off as he sat next to Steve on the couch in their usual spots, close but not touching—not for a lack of want on Tony’s part, but he knew the rules.

 

After the second time Grant’s character claimed to go by another name Spider-Man, seemingly out of nowhere, said, “It’d be fun if we all switched up our names for a day; I’d love to confuse the masses by swinging around claiming I was the Hulk or something. Maybe the Daily Bugle would print headlines about my identity crisis rather than some made-up wrong-doing for once.”

 

After a considerate pause, things quickly devolved from there.

 

Spider-Woman (because apparently mischief was in the spider-gene) then threw out a counter-suggestion, saying they should have a costume party instead, and they could all dress up as each other. And because Carol loved making Jess smile, the sap, she only added to the insanity by throwing in that it shouldn’t just be each other’s costumes, but each other’s _worst costumes_. Tony had no trouble staying awake after that because everyone began to chime in, call dibs on whose costume they wanted, and were overall obnoxious.

 

One look at Steve and he knew this was a done deal. He might’ve tried to appear exasperated for the sake of his ‘Sensible Old Man’ reputation, but Tony knew him better than that. He had a twinkle in those ridiculously blue eyes that tipped Tony off right away on how much Steve was down for this insanity. In fact, if he were less restrained, he knew Steve would be encouraging it out loud with the rest of the team, being the goofball he really was.

 

“I guess we can forego one day of training to have an out-of-the-blue costume party, as long as no supervillains decide to interrupt,” Tony said, sighing as the rest of the team broke out into cheers, then quieted down to excited chatter as they discussed among themselves the ins and outs of it all. Even Wolverine looked like he was looking forward to it, his cigar bouncing animatedly, and his face normally didn’t shift away from his trademark scowl.

 

Well, it wasn’t as if the team didn’t deserve a chance to unwind, or be silly without causing property damage, so Tony figured there was no harm in bankrolling a masquerade for his and Steve’s people. Family, he would even say, not that he’d tell them that to their faces.

 

They called him and Steve ‘Mom and Dad’ enough as it was, there was no way he was adding fodder to that particularly embarrassing tease. Tony’s heart may love it for what it suggested, but it hit a little too close to home, and it felt like he’d just gotten Steve back in his life after the breakout at the Raft and subsequent formation of the new Avengers.

 

He wasn’t going to do anything to put any strain in their thankfully persisting friendship, especially at the risk of making Steve uncomfortable and distant again. Tony had done that enough if he thought back to all the things they’d been through together, most of which were arguably his fault, so now that he had a second chance at this, at being a leader with Steve again, he’d rather chop off his own foot than mess it up.

 

That didn’t mean Tony was going to stop loving Steve, far from it. It didn’t even mean he was never going to do anything embarrassing under his own terms—this costume party would be proof of that—but the key words there were ‘his own terms’.

 

Tony knew exactly who he was going to be.

 

* * *

 

It had taken some delving into his memory to get all the details right (even though you’d think he’d never forget), and he had to practically rebuild his dusty old sewing machine he hadn’t touched since he'd made his outfit for 'Spare Parts Man'—which he considered his belated 'goth phase' and left it at that, refusing to be embarrassed that that had been a  _thing—_ before he could even get started, but once Tony sat down and started feeding thread through silky, black and yellow material he didn’t come up for air until he was done. And boy was it a masterpiece when completed.

 

The outfit was fairly simply, all things considered. There weren’t any intricate designs or difficult patterns to follow, so it wasn’t as if he were some poor cosplayer on the night before a convention trying to build medieval fantasy armor from scratch. But what it lacked in intricacy it made up for in being revealing and yet still the costume of a hero, rather than a stripper. You’d think that wouldn’t make much of a difference, but Tony hardly wanted to be the one to break it to Steve just how much he’d toed the line between male dancer and vigilante at the time, and yet still be accurate to the original costume.

 

In the end Tony merely did his damnedest and hoped Steve, in good humor, found it more amusing rather than humiliating. Otherwise, _goodbye cruel world_.

 

When the night of the party arrived Tony waited until it was in full swing before coming up from the lab fully dressed. He adjusted the low-hanging neck line and yellow belt one last time before stepping into the main living area of the tower, unable to stop himself from glancing around and trying to guess who was who.

 

He immediately spotted Wolverine decked out in a Hawkeye’s old, purple...well, the only way Tony was ever able to describe it was _dress_ , with a similarly low navel window to the one he himself was sporting. The major difference being Logan’s furry chest taking the absurdity of the costume to a whole new level. The second person he saw was Peter painted green from head-to-toe (badly, at that), a rubber Halloween mask over his head of the Hulk’s face, and those cheap, foam fists from Toys-R-Us engulfing his hands. Despite how much he was gesticulating with them as he spoke to Mary Jane they shockingly stayed put.

 

And they were only the first two he saw. Everyone looked absolutely hideous and it was amazing.

 

The first one to see and approach him was Jan, who was sporting a delightfully awful rendition of Sue Storm's number-4-boob-window-version of her costume. They both took one look at each other's chests, paused for dramatic effect, and then burst into unrestrained giggles like a couple of kids who had just gotten away with doing something naughty.

 

“Glad to see you accepted my invite to this dumb thing,” Tony said, slipping a companionable arm around her shoulders as they stepped into the fray together.

 

“A party where I can wear something disgraceful and still make a fashion statement? I wouldn't miss that for the world, Darling,” Jan replied, sounding ecstatic.

 

They approached the makeshift bar, which was actually the kitchen island that overlooked the living room, overstuffed with cheap food and drinks, where they could talk and not be in the way of anyone else. It was reminiscent of the college parties Tony remembered from his youth, with how hastily and carelessly it was all put together, despite funding the damn thing himself, but this version blessedly had no alcohol, unless Logan brought his own, and the people around him were actually people he liked. And who liked him back, warts and all.

 

His ridiculous, but so very loved family.

 

Jan coveted his attention for some time, catching him up on her life, but then she was pointing out who she thought had the worst outfits (was that Cage dressed as original-flavor Wasp? Jan had never looked so hilariously offended before in her life) and eventually snorted in a beautifully undignified way. Tony quickly discovered why when the sound of wheels against the hardwood floors caught his attention.

 

“I think I just found the worst one,” she said right as someone rolled past them, only to circle back and stop before them.

 

It was a surprisingly accurate replica of one of his early Iron Man armors, the one with a nose molded into the faceplate (though the rollerblades had been a different armor model, he gave it props for the artistic liberty taken), and while that alone would have been jarring—that suit had been a work of art, fake iron nose and all, so how dare anyone suggest it was his worst suit—it got worse when the person wearing it flipped up the faceplate and revealed an unrepentant grin.

 

 _Steve Rogers’_ unrepentant grin.

 

Blinking slowly, with what had to be a rather dumb look on his face, Tony couldn't help himself and asked, “How did you even make that? Please tell me you didn't go to Reed; I’ll have to kick his ass next time I see him if you did.”

 

Laughing with a little shake of his head, Steve said, “Nah, I asked Jan for help, actually, so no punching stretchy scientists.”

 

Clutching his chest and letting out a dramatic gasp, Tony stared at Jan with the most pathetic face he could muster and exclaimed, “Betrayed! In my own home!”

 

While looking quite unapologetic Jan stood on her tiptoes, pressed a quick kiss against his cheek, and said, “If it makes you feel any better it's not even metal, but a durable, molded plastic. Steve’s basically a life-sized figurine—hardly worthy of its inspiration.”

 

Pouting, but obviously faking it, Tony said, “Alright, alright, you're back on the Christmas card list. For now.”

 

Jan let out another one of those wonderful snorts and gave Steve a little wave before wandering off, melting into the crowd of party-goers seamlessly. Tony looked back at Steve, a little smile blooming at seeing something of his design covering Steve head-to-toe, and then knocked lightly on the fake armor’s chest piece.

 

“That's plastic alright...can't call you Shellhead like this,” he said.

 

“Sounds better when I’m the one calling you that anyway,” Steve said, smirking in an oddly fond manner that had Tony looking down and away, unable to meet that expression head-on.

 

Tony was being stupid, he knew it, but he couldn’t help being somewhat overwhelmed by the image of Steve standing before him, decked out in an old version of his armor, smiling at him as if all the bad things that had ever happened to them were just a bad dream. Something he concocted in his darker moments of thought, rather than events they’d well and truly lived. Wanda ruining the world, his wretched Armor Wars, Kang, his near-suicidal drinking, the Kree Supreme Intelligence—there were so many things, so many awful things that had put a terrible strain on their friendship over the years, to the point where, on multiple occasions, Tony had been convinced it had been beyond saving.

 

Yet here they were, face to face, another impossible chance offered to them both. Steve had called it fate back when he’d first said they should reform the team, but Tony leaned more towards miraculous, dumb luck. Whatever it was he was thankful for it, but that didn’t make loving Steve any easier when he was supposed to have strictly platonic feelings for the man, rather than...whatever you called what he felt.

 

Love didn’t feel like enough of a word for it.

 

A couple of plastic, gauntlet-clad hands pulled Tony from his thoughts as they ghosted over the seam of his collar, sliding down to just below his navel before stopping, gently fingering the fabric despite being unable to actually feel it. Tony watched those fingers closely for a moment as he suppressed the needy shiver Steve’s touch unknowingly conjured, a distracting heat swirling in his stomach, before looking back up at Steve, lifting a single eyebrow as he stared at him questioningly.

 

There was a strange lilt to Steve’s voice that Tony couldn’t name, but it was mostly normal, if not a tad wistfully amused as he said, “I know I’ve teased you quite a bit about that little red number you sported back in the day, the one Molecule Man revealed your identity in, but I really have no idea what I was thinking when I made the Nomad costume.”

 

A quick, light-hearted laugh escaped Steve’s lips as he went on. “I mean, it’s hardly practical. Capes just get in the way for us who don’t hail from Asgard or the Sanctum Sanctorum, and this neckline—” he scoffed, pulling said neckline off of Tony’s skin a bit to let it go, letting it snap back against Tony’s chest like a couple of suspenders.

 

“From a tactical view point it makes no sense; it’s not like I’m bulletproof, and showing so much skin—I might as well have just painted a big ‘ol target on my chest. Unless my plan was to distract my enemies with…” Steve’s voice trailed off, his lips twisting in abashment, and now it was his turn to look aside, that Irish complexion of his giving everything away.

 

Tony couldn’t stop himself. Flirting was second nature to him, everyone knew that, and he could always play it off as nothing more than a joke like he normally did; it hardly had to mean anything, and would only be rebuffed or ignored as per usual. That’s just how he and Steve were. It was how Tony could get away with being completely obvious about his feelings at times while, simultaneously, keep Steve oblivious and not completely ruin their friendship for good.

 

So he leaned back against the kitchen island as casually as can be, lifted his left hand up to his mouth to pull the glove off with his teeth, and lowered his voice as he asked around it, “With what, Steve?” The slow, deliberate path of his freed hand trailing over his chest and down to his belly button drawing Steve’s eyes back towards him so they could follow the motion.

 

This was the moment when Steve would huff, roll his eyes, and laugh at Tony for being ridiculous for what he was implying. Tony would laugh right along with him and then they’d move onto a much safer, much more friendly topic. That was their status quo.

 

Then Steve had to go and change things up without warning.

 

Tony’s eyes widened when he realized what was happening. He noticed that suddenly Steve was much closer, crowding him up against the kitchen island, one of his legs sliding dangerously between Tony’s very own as he slipped his large, warm hand underneath Tony’s that had been gradually wandering downwards. Steve rubbed his thumb gently against the exposed skin just above Tony’s belt, Tony’s hand unsteady and very unsure atop Steve’s, and tilted his head to the side, as if curious, as he leaned forward and left barely any space between the two of them.

 

“I dunno, Tony,” Steve practically whispered, his voice deep and husky, and yet still crystal clear over all the noise of the party around them. “You’re the genius, so why don’t you tell me?”

 

“What happened to Mr. Bashful of two seconds ago?” Tony shot back, inwardly cringing at the way his voice wobbled.

 

Steve was quiet for a terrifyingly long time, just staring at him without any indication as to what he was really thinking. Then he leaned back, huffed out something that might have been a laugh, and spun so he could lean against the counter next to Tony. When he looked at him the teasing grin Tony had expected all along finally made an appearance, and that was when Tony realized he’d been played like a fiddle.

 

“I’m dressed like an infamous Billionaire Playboy, I gotta at least try to act the part,” Steve said simply, looking away to survey the crowd, seemingly unconcerned with how he’d just blew a circuit in Tony’s brain.

 

Unlike his oblivious compatriot, Tony was anything but laid back and had completely lost his ability to joke around. He could feel himself at half-mast, now very thankful for the cape he was discreetly bunching up in front of him, and he was pretty sure at least part of his face was on fire with how flushed and shameful he felt. He knew Steve didn’t mean anything by it, that was the whole point of their back-and-forth teasing to begin with—Tony _knew that_ , he’d been the one to fucking instigate it. And yet right now his blood was rushing in his ears, his pulse thundering, and Tony felt like he was going to be ill.

 

It felt like a long time before he understood what he was feeling, but then suddenly and without warning Tony was sick and tired of all the games they played that never _meant anything_.

 

It was his own fault, as with anything that brought Tony the brand of pain he was feeling, but he suddenly, and without an ounce of composure left to his name, needed to flee. Preferably to a safe space devoid of anyone who could witness him have a small breakdown. That was all he needed—just one small breakdown and then he could carry on this torture without dragging Steve along on the 'Tony Stark's special brand of issues' ride. Tony's version of a human hard reset.

 

In what had to be one of his worst attempts at leisurely escapism, Tony slipped his glove back on and offered Steve a small smile as he said as flippantly as he could muster, “Think I’m going to call it a night. I’ve got an R&D meeting in the morning Pepper’s threatening my life into attending and I want to be in top form. For the sake of my continued survival, of course.”

 

And with that he hastily made his exit, clumsily ducking a conversation Carol tried to drag him into on his way out. Once in the hall that led away from the living room and towards the nearest elevator, Tony expelled a large gust of air, his footsteps a bit shaky but steady enough to take him where he wanted to go. He was just pressing the button to call the elevator so he could head down to his workshop when he heard his name called out behind him and winced, hating himself just a little bit more.

 

He’d been so damn obvious that he was running away, of course Steve wasn’t going to let that slide, damn him.

 

For half a second Tony contemplated phasing technology, and how nice it would be to have right then so he could literally melt through the floor; Vision had had the right idea. Or even Gorgon’s ability to create kinetic shock waves would be handy, what with the concept of the ground swallowing him whole sounding very appealing right then. But then he forcibly pulled himself together, gave his inner Tony Stark an iron kick in the balls for being a coward, and turned around with a lazy grin for Steve.

 

“What’s up, Cap? Or should I say ‘Tin-man’, in this case?” he asked, designing faster elevator schematics in the back of his mind—maybe he could combine it with that phasing tech? Now there was an idea.

 

Before he could let that thought distract him, however, Steve was right in front of him, giving him a hard, but not unkind look. “Tony,” he began, sounding off in a way Tony couldn’t discern, “I’m sorry.”

 

Tony’s mind blanked out for a second too long, causing Steve’s face to settle in an unhappy expression, but he honestly had no idea what to say to that. He realized he should say something, though, and managed to ask, “What for?”

 

Sighing, removing the fake armor helmet so he could comb his fingers through his hair, Steve tucked the helmet against the wall by their feet, Tony watching his every move, and looked Tony straight in the eye. “I did something that made you uncomfortable, and now you’re leaving the party. A party you paid for, by the way, and that’s not fair to you,” he said sadly, letting his gaze drift downward dejectedly.

 

“Uncomfortable?” Tony repeated stupidly, a sudden clarity smoothing out the confused lines of his face, only to replace them with a self-deprecating expression that appeared to catch Steve’s interest as he looked back up at him. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Steve.”

 

 _At least not in the way you think you_ _did_ _,_ Tony thought morosely, understanding where their wires got crossed and feeling a sense of emotional fatigue from it. Steve must’ve been under the impression that Tony was running off because of some sort of gay panic after their little up-close and personal moment, but that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. He was light-years past 'panic', and about ten years into the slowest nuclear meltdown that began the moment a pair of ice-crusted eyelashes fluttered open and Steve Rogers restarted his life in a new time.

 

Furrowing his brow, Steve parted his lips to say something but then the elevator finally arrived and the doors slid open, signalling Tony’s exit.

 

“I’m really am just tired,” Tony stated, stepping into the elevator and leaning his back against the wall with a small, weak smile. “Have a good time, Steve, and don’t let anyone spike the punch. You have my permission to ground anyone who does for a week.”

 

And with that Tony considered the matter done and over with, as the elevator door began to shut, but, as he’d proven time and time again, Steve was a stubborn bastard who didn’t know when to leave well enough alone. Steve’s hand shot between the elevator doors to trigger the sensor to open them again, stepped inside, and pressed the button to force them shut behind him. There was a minute of heavy silence that followed as they merely stared at one another, nothing but the sounds of the machinery to fill the space around them, until Steve hit the emergency stop button and plunged the elevator in a thick, oppressive red light when their progress halted.

 

“If you’re so tired you should be heading up to bed, not going down to your workshop,” Steve said simply, speaking lightly despite the sharpness to his words.

 

Frowning, Tony leaned further back against the wall if possible, crossing his arms defensively over his chest as he tried to sound just as light, and mostly succeeded, as he replied, “You know me, I’ve gotta wind down first with an hour or two of work before I can get myself to sleep. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

 

“Right,” Steve scoffed, “ _Nothing out of the ordinary,_  if you ignore the fact that what you’re actually doing is running away from me.”

 

Sharply inhaling, Tony knew he’d been caught, but to hear it so bluntly stated turned his blood cold, clutching his gloved hands into fists. He bit his tongue to prevent himself from responding, from admitting Steve was right, and glared at him while his brain ran in circles trying to figure out a way out of this. Short of climbing out of the emergency hatch above him and scaling the elevator shaft, Tony didn’t see any plausible escape plan.

 

Where were the inopportune villain attacks when you needed one?

 

Curling and uncurling his fists at his sides, Steve took a couple long steps so he was right in front of Tony, crowding him up against the wall like he had the kitchen island, but this time there was no innuendo, no sexual tension, and instead he gently grasped either of Tony’s shoulder’s. Always so damn gentle, and yet Tony still flinched against his better judgment, making Steve remove his hands almost as quickly as he’d placed them. Like hell he was going to let Steve think he didn’t want him to touch him—he’d already fucked up enough for one night.

 

Gritting his teeth Tony snached Steve’s hands up and slapped them back against his shoulders, holding them there as he glared up at him, daring him to take them away again. All Steve did in response was smile somewhat, the hard edges to his eyes from before gone, and let out a small, content breath.

 

“Tony, just tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it,” Steve requested, pressing his finger tips into black fabric beseechingly.

 

Tony flexed his own fingers, still holding onto Steve’s wrists, and looked off to the side as he exhaled a small breath. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, quickly adding before Steve could persist, “I was the one who was wrong—is wrong...have been wrong for a long time.”

 

In the silence that followed Tony was overcome with that same emotional fatigue from before, tired of the games, of the avoidance, of pretending his feelings didn’t exist. That they didn’t matter as long as he had Steve’s friendship and happiness in his life. But when he tried to get his voice to work, to say something more definitive, his throat closed up and he was left burning a hole into Steve’s shoulder with his frustrated stare.

 

That was why he didn’t notice until it was too late that Steve’s face was getting closer, barely able to contain the urge to jump out of his skin when Steve’s forehead pressed against his own, and then all Tony could see were the barely-visible freckles that peppered Steve’s nose, and his long, pale eyelashes that quivered when this close. It brought on the sudden, surreal thought of how far they'd come since that first interaction, those lashes always fluttering with life in the most unexpected of ways.

 

“I have definitely been doing something wrong if you actually believe that,” Steve said quietly, his breath ghosting over Tony’s face.

 

“Really not your fault,” Tony replied automatically, his brain somewhat on autopilot as the rest of him tried to remember how to function properly with Steve right there in his personal space. “I was messed up long before I even met you.”

 

He was trying at his darker brand of humor to lighten the mood, but Tony often forgot how much Steve disliked it, and instead of a smile or a laugh he got a rather endearing scowl out of it. The kind of expression Steve made when he wished he could reach into a person’s mind and punch the crap out of the negativity that plagued it for one reason or another. It was always a nice thought, but it wasn’t what Tony needed nor wanted right now.

 

“Really, Steve, it’s fine. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me and go have a good time,” Tony said, trying his best to sound nonchalant. By the way Steve’s lips twisted further he wasn’t sure he succeeded.

 

Next thing he knew Steve somehow managed to get even closer, sliding his arms downwards to wrap around Tony, dragging him as close as they could be and tucking his face against Tony’s neck. Tony helplessly trembled when Steve’s breath caressed the junction between his neck and his shoulder, right where the Nomad mask ended and there was nothing but flesh, and he knew Steve had to have felt it because he flexed his fingers against Tony’s back as if in response.

 

In Tony’s wildest dreams he never imagined anything like this. Something so enclosed and intimate without a shred of clothing missing, but here they were, wrapped up in each other, and those were really Steve Rogers’ lips pressing a gentle kiss against Tony’s goosebumpy skin.

 

“I’d rather be having a good time with you,” Steve said, and blew a fuse in Tony’s brain for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

 

It was a sad, pathetic attempt to wiggle free of Steve’s embrace, considering he really wanted to be nowhere else, but Tony needed the space to see Steve’s face—he needed to be 100% certain that what was happening right then was actually happening, and not the product of some fever dream. Or worse, pity for having figured Tony out, because there was no way Steve would actually want that unless he had deduced Tony’s feelings and just wanted to do his friend a solid, right? Steve didn’t desire him like that.

 

Right?

 

“Was the punch spiked before I showed up?” Tony asked, unnerved by how breathless he sounded. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying?”

 

“Tony,” Steve muttered in obvious exasperation, rolling his eyes as a grin quirked up the corners of his lips. “I promise you I have full control over my faculties.”

 

The pleasant expression drifted into something more uncertain, and Steve asked, “Unless I’ve been reading this whole thing wrong and you don’t want…” He didn’t finish that sentence, looking so unsure and nervous that Tony couldn’t stand it.

 

“The problem I’m having here is that I do want, boy do I ever, but I had no idea _you’d_ ever want _me,_ ” Tony explained softly, clutching at Steve’s shoulders and wondering if he could even feel it through the plastic. “I’ve loved you for my entire adult life, but even I know I don’t deserve you, didn’t want you to walk on eggshells around me, so I—”

 

Snapping his mouth shut Tony balked, hearing it too late to stop what had slipped out of his mouth. For years, nearly a decade, Tony had coveted his secret as if saying it aloud would open Pandora’s box, poison the world around him, yet here he was telling Steve, to his damn face, how he felt, disregarding all those years of hiding, of pretending, of desperate want that he fought off in order to keep Steve close to him rather than scare him away.

 

One hint that Steve might want him back, even if only for ‘a good time’, and Tony was spilling his guts all over the elevator floor. God, he was a weak, weak man.

 

“I-I mean...I…” It was no use, Tony couldn’t think of any way to salvage this, but he didn’t have to when Steve slipped free of his grasp and Tony knew this was it. This was the moment Steve let him down gently, walk away, and then Tony would go have that breakdown he’d been fighting off in his workshop. Alone. Maybe for the rest of his life.

 

What actually happened was Steve removed the gauntlets from his hands, tossed them over to a corner of the elevator, and then cupped Tony’s face with his warm palms as he traced his bottom lip with his thumb.

 

“Do you mean that?” Steve asked, his tone deep and husky like it’d been before at the party, but something about it seemed more profound this time. More real.

 

Tony truly was the weakest of men for Steve Rogers.

 

“Yes,” he replied quietly, a slight tremble in his voice.

 

A small but brilliant smile lit up Steve’s face, and the only warning Tony got was him whispering, “Good,” before they were kissing, soft and sweet but better than any kiss Tony had ever been apart of. His heart raced in his chest, and his shaking hands gripped uselessly at the plastic of Steve’s chestplate, but it didn’t matter when Steve wrapped his arms around Tony to embrace him as he had before, but this time it was more charged, more meaningful, and the contrast of Steve’s warmth and the chill of the elevator wall behind him was sending tendrils of pleasure snaking through Tony’s body.

 

Then a tiny, needy sound escaped Tony against his will and things escalated, no pun intended. Steve angled his head differently and pressed forward, plunging his tongue into Tony’s mouth, licking away the oxygen from his lungs. Tony gave as good as he got, sucking and biting and pushing the kiss as far as it could go, but eventually they had to come up for air and they breathed deeply together for awhile, Tony transfixed by the dilation of Steve’s pupils, so wide and black they nearly consumed the blue he so admired.

 

After a moment, when things calmed down enough that they both relaxed into the embrace and let the elevator wall hold them up, Steve planted a quick peck against Tony’s lips and said, “In case I didn’t make it clear, I happen to love you too.”

 

Swallowing down his heart in the back of his throat, an embarrassing heat traveling up his chest and neck to his face, Tony was silent for a little bit while he regained his bearings. When he felt steady enough he smiled tremulously and asked quietly, “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” was Steve’s unhesitant response, brushing his fingers through Tony’s facial hair tenderly as he did.

 

“Then how about we make up for lost time and you show me how much?” Tony suggested, his smile taking on something more wicked, more confident than it had been all night.

 

Returning the smile, Steve grabbed Tony’s thighs and heaved him up, wrapping his calves around his waist as he spun them around and hit the button to resume the elevator’s path downward to the workshop. The workshop, where a cot just big enough for the two of them was waiting for a couple of bodies to fill it.

 

Licking a tantalizing stripe up Tony’s very exposed chest, Steve looked like a man on a mission as he growled and nipped at Tony’s collarbone, his eyes lit up with passion as he stared up at him.

 

“Gladly,” Steve said into Tony’s skin.

 

And, true to his word, the elevator doors opened and he did just that.

 

 


End file.
